


arte et marte

by iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: Yang comes home one day to find a cat sitting on his doorstep.





	arte et marte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beingevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingevil/gifts).



> as always, 100% chris' fault ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ♥
> 
> i distinctly remember there being a thread where we yelled a lot about cat reu and i sent her [this picture](https://www.facebook.com/759441280811241/photos/heterochromia-%3C3/1458739790881383/) and then somehow i tripped and whoops this is 5k? i just wanted some porn but i guess HAVE SOME PLOT TO GO WITH
> 
> uh. the magic realism bit is very much tacked on because um. idk how else to explain this entire fic ??? whoops. my bad.

*

Yang comes home one day to find a cat sitting on his doorstep.

He slows his steps, making sure not to make any sudden movements but the cat doesn’t seem inclined to move any time soon, turning to look at him with an almost baleful expression in its blue and gold eyes.

“Oh,” he says, immediately charmed, crouching down and offering the cat the back of his hand for a quick sniff. When the cat still doesn’t seem to want to leave, he reaches out and pets it gently over the top of its fluffy head, stroking down its sleek back a couple of times.

He’s always been particularly fond of cats, ever since his earlier years when he had still had the time and freedom to keep them before everything. Yang’s lips twist downwards, mood darkening.

The cat seems to sense this and its eyes blink slowly at him, a soft purr starts rumbling in its chest, shaking Yang out of his unwelcome memories, able to feel it where he’s still petting the cat.

He glances down at it, scratching it behind its ears gratefully. It’s definitely a well-kept animal, black fur shiny and sleek, nary a dull patch to be seen, and definitely not the type of stray you’d expect to find just wandering around on the street. It’s also too friendly to be anything but someone’s pet, despite the fact there’s no collar visible around its neck.

Yang stands and looks down at the cat, considering. The cat yawns, stretching out its body in a lithe move before it weaves in between Yang’s feet and sits down, seeming to be waiting expectantly for him to be let inside.

“Do you want to go inside?” Yang asks it bemusedly and is given another baleful look from those very striking eyes. He laughs softly, both at the cat’s expression and at himself for thinking he can communicate with it. He still has his _gift_ of course, a curse that he can never be rid of, but he’s locked it down so far that he doesn’t even have to worry about it interfering with his life any longer.

“Alright then.” He slots his key into his lock and pushes open the door. The cat saunters in before him, tail raised high as if it owned the place. “Come on, you can stay with me until we find your owner.”

*

The cat, Yang finds out the next day when he takes it to the vet, is male, not desexed and also not microchipped.

“He’s definitely a very well looked after boy,” the vet tells him. He winces when the cat sinks its claws into his hand. “If a tad unfriendly.”

Yang blinks and nods slowly, staring. The cat had been nothing but perfectly behaved with him the previous night - eating the only can of unexpired chicken that Yang had unearthed from the back of his sadly empty pantry before curling up next to him while he marked assignments and typed out a few emails before bed.

Yang had made a quick run down to the local convenience store just before they closed and bought a bag of cat litter and some proper cans of cat food. The cat had seemed content to watch him as he poured litter in a spare plastic box and set out another dish of food, head resting on its folded paws on Yang’s favourite armchair.

It had followed him into his bedroom and jumped onto the bed with him, ignoring all attempts he made to try and encourage it to sleep on the cushion Yang had set out for it on the sofa in the living room.

Finally, after a long fifteen-minute stalemate, Yang had given up and let the cat be, turning off his light and curling into his cold blankets.

The next morning, thankfully a Saturday, Yang had rung up the local vet for an emergency appointment. After confirming the time, able to get the very next slot due to a last minute cancellation, he had bundled himself and the cat, safely stowed in a cardboard box, the only thing he had on hand, into his old clunker of a car and drove them carefully down to the vet.

It was there, when the vet had opened the box, that the cat’s attitude had done a sudden one-eighty. It had leaped out of the box, hissing loudly, swiping out with its claws and trying to bite with its sharp little teeth.

“How on earth did you get him into the box?” the vet had asked him, halfway through the appointment after several close, intimate encounters with what looked like extremely well-sharpened claws.

Yang could only shake his head weakly in reply, staring in horror at the menace the cat had become, twisting like a wild thing in the vet’s grasp as he yowled and hissed without pause.

After the ordeal was over and Yang had once again, apologised to the vet and paid the bill, he eyes the cardboard cat carrier in his passenger side seat just a little warily on the drive home.

However, the cat seems content now to be on its, well, his, best behaviour. He winds around Yang’s ankles affectionately, purring, leaning up to butt his head against Yang’s hand when he leans down cautiously to give him a pat.

“You’re a strange one,” he tells the cat and puts down another dish of fancy cat food. He figures maybe the cat just really didn’t like vets.

Yang sits down with his own lunch, having skipped breakfast to visit the vet, and he turns away to pick up his mug of tea only to turn back to find the cat taking dainty little bites out of his chicken sandwich. The sandwich was something he had grabbed hurriedly from the cafe next door to the vet after the appointment, knowing very well that he didn’t have anything edible at home.

“Hey!” Yang picks up the cat, half expecting claws and teeth to come out, but the cat merely makes a sad little _mraow_ sound, tilting his little head up to stare at Yang with his pretty eyes. Yang tries, he really does, but he still somehow ends up splitting half the meat from his lunch with the cat, putting it onto another small dish and placing this one on the table instead of on the floor.

He notices that the cat has left the dish with cat food untouched, but is attacking the one filled with chicken with gusto. He sighs and takes a bite of his mostly salad sandwich, mentally removing canned cat food from his shopping list and adding more chicken.

*

Yang spends the majority of the next three months putting up posters and posting on internet forums and across his admittedly narrow social media network about the cat. He gets a couple of calls and a few emails from people who’ve had similar cats go missing, but in the end with a tiny bit of intuition, he knows for certain that none of them is the cat’s actual owner.

Eventually though, Yang finally gives up and buys a collar. It’s a sleek leather one with a tiny little blue bell that chimes lightly whenever the cat moves. He resolves to make another appointment with the probably scarred local vet for a microchip in the next few weeks.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘cat’ or ‘hey you’ forever,” Yang tells him that night as he boots up his laptop on the kitchen table. He sits down on a kitchen chair even as the cat jumps up onto the table, curious as always, to cuddle up next to his arm.

Yang rubs him under the chin and is rewarded with half-closed eyes and a loud purr, the cat leaning the weight of his entire head on the fingers Yang is using.

“You’re such a beautiful boy,” he tells him, pulling away reluctantly after one final pet and typing into the Google search bar. “You deserve a beautiful name.”

Fifteen minutes later, he’s clicking morosely through the pages of baby names for boys, overwhelmed by the sheer number of possibilities. He wants to give the cat a name that he’ll potentially answer to, a habit from long ago, when he still had the ability to connect with them through his powers, but now merely boils down to him saying the name out loud and then looking at the cat, waiting for some signal of interest.

They go through about twenty pages without so much a flick of a black furry ear and Yang’s closer and closer to just calling it a night and trying again tomorrow.

“Felix?” he tries as the cat blinks slowly, still sprawled unmovingly next to Yang’s computer, pressed up against the heat vent. “Greg? Simon? Trevor?”

Yang clicks through a few more pages, landing on one that’s offering variations on common male names. Maybe the cat prefers something a little more out of the ordinary, he thinks.

“Kain? Kris? Markus?” he reads out, glancing over at the cat. Still nothing. “Oskar.”

The cat sits up then, leaning over and placing his front paws onto Yang’s keyboard and tilts his head to stare intently at Yang.

Yang stares back. “Oskar?” he repeats and gets a definite flicker of interest from the cat, both of his ears twitching forward. He pads across the still open laptop then and pushes his face up to rub against Yang’s cheek, pink sandpaper tongue darting out to try and groom his cheek. Yang laughs and lets him, curling his arm around the cat’s back and stroking his fingers through the fur there. “Alright, alright. Oskar it is then.”

*

Yang always runs a little cold and has since he locked his powers away. He’s used to waking up freezing most nights when he inevitably forgets to turn the little heater in his bedroom on before sleep. Still, it’s a rather effective way to shake himself out of the nightmares that plague his sleeping hours, of being helpless and watching as his friends and comrades die again and again because of how weak he is.

That particular night though, he wakes up extremely warm, feeling something move against him, soft against the bare skin of his stomach.

“Oskar?” he murmurs, still mostly asleep. It won’t be the first time that his cat has woken him up instead of the cold and he reaches down blindly, eyes still closed in the darkness of the room and touching something that is very soft, but also very much not fur. “Huh?”

He reaches over and hits the light switch, suddenly very much awake.

There’s a man on his bed and he’s not wearing very much at all. Yang feels his face flush with heat when his gaze drops despite himself and he finds that the other man is literally sitting naked, on Yang’s bed, in the middle of the night.

The man smiles and it’s unfair how attractive he is, short dark hair swept rakishly to one side and his eyes are blue and gold, staring at Yang with such heated intensity he’s absently amazed that he hasn’t spontaneously combusted as yet.

There’s something about him that’s vaguely familiar, and Yang doesn’t exactly feel unsafe, which is possibly the only reason he hasn’t run screaming from his room as yet. The other man tilts his head slightly sideways and there’s the soft chime of a bell that draws Yang’s attention to the black leather collar he’s wearing with a tiny blue bell hanging off the front.

“Oskar?” he says, half-incredulous and by now, he’s mostly convinced himself that this is a very realistic dream. Unexpected, but a good change of pace from his usual brand of nightmares.

Yang does make an absent mental note on how he really should probably go out more if his subconscious is concocting up a semi-erotic dream about his own cat for him. Despite everything though, he still feels his body heat tick upwards as he takes in the sleek muscles and broad shoulders of the other man, _his cat_ , as he lounges wearing nothing more than a wicked smirk.

It’s not helped by how Oskar crawls up towards him on all fours, movements deliberately slow, to settle in between his legs, nudging them apart with his knees when Yang himself is a beat too slow to part them.

“Finally,” Oskar says, leaning down to rub his cheek against Yang’s, mimicking how he had done it earlier in the day while as an actual cat. His human voice is deep and smooth and Yang’s mind stutters and blanks out when he imagines that voice low in his ear, murmuring filthy things to him.

Oskar seems to know exactly what he’s thinking because of course, this is his dream after all. He slides one hand across the front of Yang’s loose pajama pants, stroking over the burgeoning hardness there and undoes the buttons of his matching shirt nimbly with the other.

He leans in, the warmth of his breath brushing over Yang’s ear. “I’ve been waiting for you to find my name, Yang,” he says and his voice curls around Yang’s name, low and heated, in a way that makes him shudder. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Oskar slips his hand beneath the loose waistband and gives Yang’s already leaking cock a few rough tugs before he slides his hand across, palm hot as a brand on Yang’s thigh, kneading the soft skin there.

Yang makes a soft, cut off sound, biting at his lower lip. Oskar draws back enough to smirk at him fondly before he leans back in and kisses Yang, nipping on Yang’s lip until he opens his mouth, letting Oskar lick in, clutching at the smooth skin of his shoulders almost helplessly.

Oskar’s kisses alternate between gentle and rough - one moment he’s teasing Yang by pressing soft little kisses against the corners of his lips, the next he’s tangling their tongues together, their lips pressing up against each other, slick and wet from the sloppy kiss.

Yang soon finds himself naked, his pajamas thrown carelessly across the floor. He flushes with embarrassment as Oskar takes his time, sitting back on his haunches to run his gaze over Yang thorough, from head to toe, lingering for a long moment when he gets to the juncture between Yang’s thighs. His heated looks almost feels like a physical touch while he stares, licking his lips as he watches the way Yang’s cock twitches at the attention, leaking pre-come messily over Yang’s belly.

“Do you want me?” Oskar asks, bracing his hands either side of Yang’s hips and lowering his head until he was mere centimeters away from Yang’s hardness. He dips his tongue into Yang’s belly button before licking up the sticky, clear liquid from the skin around it.

Yang makes a high, shocked noise when Oskar doesn’t even bother waiting for his answer, turning his head slightly to mouth at his hard cock, lips running over the pulsing vein on the side before he tilts another smirk at Yang and closes his lips over the tip, licking across the still leaking slit.

Yang can’t help the way his thighs seize, his fingers automatically curling in Oskar’s dark hair. “Ah.” He can’t quite help the breathy gasp that escapes him either despite clenching his jaw to prevent himself from begging shamelessly for more.

Oskar sinks his head down, taking Yang’s entire length into his mouth easily. The feeling of his mouth, wet and hot and perfect, makes Yang want to buck his hips up for more. His hands tighten in Oskar’s hair, tugging in a way that’s probably painful, but Oskar doesn’t even blink twice, holding Yang down in place with his hands firmly around Yang’s hips.

“We’re doing this at my pace,” Oskar tells him casually as he pulls off entirely, licking his lips. He’s the very image of debauchery right now, mouth red and wet from a mix of Yang’s pre-come and his own saliva, hair thoroughly disheveled from Yang’s hands. “I’m going to mess you up so good,” he croons softly as he lifts Yang’s knees up and places them over his shoulders. “But you’ll only come when I let you, okay?”

Yang whines softly as a reply as he arches his back a little, hips shifting off the sheets as he lets Oskar manhandle him into a position of his own liking. Everything feels a little hazy, and he can’t think much beyond wanting more.

He’s expecting Oskar to either continue with his mouth or even just fuck him straight out, Yang’s ready for both and he wants it, craves it in fact. However, after a long pause where Oskar lifts his hips up a little more and adjusts his position on the bed, he definitely doesn’t expect the gentle kiss much further back, against the edges of his hole or the way Oskar then proceeds to press his tongue inside, licking him open slowly, wet and utterly filthy.

Yang moans, the feeling unlike anything he’s experienced before. He can feel himself harden even more, aching and he wants so much just to touch himself, knowing that he’s probably going to come as soon as he puts his hand anywhere near his cock. He keeps his hands by his side though, remembering Oskar’s smirk and his subsequent command.

He wants to please Oskar and to obey him in this at the very least. Oskar does, in fact, seem pleased by his self-restraint, and he pets Yang’s thigh gently before he slides two fingers inside. Yang’s already loose enough now that he takes them easily, panting as he feels them move in tandem, in and out, slow and not nearly enough.

“Ah, Oskar,” Yang all but sobs, clenching down almost against his own will, wanting something more than just Oskar’s tongue and fingers in him. “Please, I want -”

“Hmm?” Oskar leaves his fingers where they are, moving his wrist almost languidly as he moves up and kisses Yang, open-mouthed, pressing their tongues together so that Yang can taste himself. “What do you want?” he asks, sitting back again, eyes flickering from Yang’s face and then back to where he’s slowly finger-fucking him, lips parted on a sigh.

Yang stares up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. He throws the rest of his self-restraint and shame to the wind when he grinds down onto Oskar’s fingers, wanting them deeper. “I want you,” he says, reaching out a hand to curl around the back of Oskar’s neck, pulling him down closer again. “I want you to fill me up and fuck me. Please.”

“Since you ask so nicely,” Oskar murmurs, pulling his fingers out and lowering Yang’s hips until he’s positioned perfectly, the tip of his cock nudging against Yang’s hole. He enters him slowly, letting Yang adjust to his size with tiny little thrusts before he pushes in a little more.

Yang’s mouth falls open and his head tilts back, the feel of Oskar slowly filling him up making his toes curl on the very edge of pleasure and pain. He’s so big, bigger than any of the toys that Yang has secreted away in his bottom drawer, and Yang knows that he’s not going to last very long at all once Oskar starts moving properly.

“So tight,” Oskar says, kissing his cheek and letting his lips slide over to the corner of his mouth. His voice is low and a little rough as he keeps his movements slow at first, sliding until just the tip remains inside Yang before he pushes back in. He turns his head and bites at one of Yang’s thighs, both of which are still braced across his shoulders.

Yang pants, unable to get any leverage to move of his own accord, completely at Oskar’s mercy. “Oskar,” he says, arching his back as much as he can. “Oskar, please. More. I need more.”

He must say something right because the next time Oskar draws out, he thrusts back in with one sharp move that makes Yang cry out, his moan loud and breathy. “Yes. I want -”

Oskar fucks him in earnest now, the sound of skin striking against skin, the wet sound from where they’re joined, loud in Yang’s ears even as he continues babbling out loud, half nothing more than just Oskar’s name on repeat, the other half is basically shameless begging for more.

“You were made for my cock,” Oskar tells him, nipping at Yang’s earlobe. “So hot and tight and perfect.”

Yang lifts his chin up for a kiss and Oskar obliges, a messy tangle of lips and tongue as Yang whines low in his throat, wanting to come but still doing his best to hold on.

“I want to come,” he tells Oskar, hand moving towards his much-neglected cock. “Please, can I?”

Oskar grabs his hand and raises it to his lips, kissing the palm lightly before he smirks, grabbing the wrist of Yang’s other hand as well and pinning them both above his head, next to the headboard.

“I want you to come from just my cock inside you, Yang,” he says, basically bending Yang in half as he leans down to bite a mark into his neck. He scrapes his teeth over and over across Yang’s pulse point, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

Yang’s so close now, teetering at the very edge, as Oskar continues to fuck into him almost brutally, each thrust pressing against his prostate, making him see nothing but stars and Oskar’s blue and gold eyes, staring down at him.

“C’mon, Yang,” Oskar basically purrs against his ear, nuzzling into the sensitive patch of skin behind before he moves down, licking at Yang’s throat again, lips pressing warm kisses against the skin, damp with sweat. “Come for me.”

He bites down on the juncture of Yang’s neck and shoulder, the bite hard enough that Yang twitches from the tiny instant of pain but it’s enough to shove him well over the edge and he comes, hard enough that his vision whites out for a moment. He feels himself tightening around Oskar who continues fucking him hard for a few more strokes before he’s also coming, a low moan of his name muffled against the skin of his shoulder.

They stay like that for a moment, just catching their breath before Oskar pulls out. Yang makes a soft noise, shifting his hips in slight discomfort but content just to lie there, a boneless, limp puddle of endorphins. Yang’s only closed his eyes for a moment, but he must’ve dozed a little, because when he blinks them open again, Oskar’s gently cleaning him off with a warm, wet towel, wiping away the worst of the sweat and mess from his skin.

Yang mutters something indistinct, curling a hand around Oskar’s wrist and tugging at him until lies down next to Yang, his warmth pressed against his side.

Oskar laughs softly, putting the towel to one side and pulling the blankets over both of them. He presses a gentle kiss against Yang’s temple, one hand sliding over Yang’s naked hip possessively, tucking him closer.

Yang must fall back asleep after that because the next time he wakes, it’s well into the morning. He blinks open tired eyes and glances over to the side. He’s alone of course. He had known last night must’ve been nothing but a fantasy fueled dream but it’s still a depressing reality to wake up to after all of _that_.

He sits up and he notices absently that he’s wearing his pajamas still and definitely not naked, which is to be expected. However, the soreness in the muscles of his lower back and the twinge of pain between his legs that he only just notices now that he’s sitting is definitely not. He clutches at the blankets in his lap and tries to think things through as logically as he can.

There’s the sound of someone, or something, moving around in the kitchen and Yang pushes himself up with a concentrated effort, wincing once when his feet touch the cold wooden floorboards and then again when he stands, a little shaky on his feet.

He pads out of his bedroom slowly, bracing himself on the wall every couple of steps, the soreness in his back and hips messing with his balance. It takes him a depressing amount of time to even make it halfway down the hallway.

“You’re up.”

Yang raises his head to find Oskar, perfectly human, dressed in one of Yang’s oversized tee-shirts obviously looted from the back of his closet as well as his largest pair of track pants. They’re still both a little small, pants riding low on his slim hips even as the shirt stretches sinfully tight over his shoulders and biceps when he crosses his arms. He leans his shoulder against the wall and sweeps his eyes over Yang.

Yang swallows, tearing his eyes away from the way Oskar’s muscles flex and the sliver of bronzed skin across his stomach that peeks out where his shirt rides up. “What -”

Oskar obviously notices where his gaze has gone, smirking as he saunters over, slow and predatory. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” he says as he picks up Yang easily in a princess style carry and brings him to the kitchen. “But that can wait until after breakfast.”

Yang glances up at him, eyes wide, hands curving around Oskar’s neck almost automatically. “You can cook?” he asks, thinking of his own meager skills of burning toast and making tea from tea bags.

“Better than you at least,” Oskar says as he sets him down carefully in his chair and pushes a plate towards him as well as a steaming cup. Yang eagerly pulls the mug towards himself first and buries his face into it, inhaling the scent of perfectly brewed black tea. It’s also been sweetened with just the right amount of honey as well.

He glances up and catches Oskar watching him fondly, a small smile curving his lips and he feels his own heart skip a beat. If Yang had thought him handsome last night, it’s nothing compared to Oskar in the full light of morning - sharp cheekbones, sharper jawline and those beautiful eyes combining into a devastatingly beautiful package.

Yang swallows his mouthful and sets his cup down. He picks up his knife and fork, hesitates and then puts them back down again, folding his hands in front of himself on the table.

“Who are you?” he asks, deciding that he should probably get the entire story before he goes and does something silly, like asking Oskar to stay forever.

Oskar touches his neck absently and Yang notices with surprise that he’s still wearing the collar, the tiny blue bell jingling when his fingers brush up against it. He sighs, looking down for one moment, smile a little resigned, a little wry.

“My name is Oskar von Reuenthal,” he says, glancing back up to meet and hold Yang’s gaze. He shrugs a shoulder when Yang inhales sharply. “You’ve heard of me, I see.”

Yang blinks. “You’ve been missing for months, it was all over the news a while back.” He tilts his head to one side as the pieces fall into place. “Oh. No wonder I thought you looked familiar.”

Oskar’s lips quirk up into a brief smile. “I got on the bad side of someone,” he says. “And unfortunately got hit with a curse that resulted in, well, you saw how I ended up.”

Yang frowns at him, feeling something heavy and uncomfortable coalesce in his stomach. _Magic._ Somehow he had expected his past to catch up to him eventually, but not like this, not in the shape of this man who Yang thinks he might be able to -

“How did you break it then? The curse that is.” Yang waves a hand in Oskar’s general direction and cuts off his own dangerous train of thought. “Since you’re no longer small and furry, I assume the curse is gone?”

“My name,” Oskar tells him. “The only way to break the curse was that I had to have my name returned to me.”

Yang shifts, wary. “Then why not go to a friend, someone who would be able to put two and two together a lot faster? You’ve been here with me for months.”

Oskar’s eyes are a burning blue and gold. “Because I needed you,” he says softly. “Yang Wenli, the one they call _the Magician_.”

Yang’s blood runs cold as he hears the title that he had put aside a long time ago. He pushes away from the table with a screech of wood on wood as his chair scrapes the floorboards harshly. “How do you know that? _Who_ are you?” he asks, palms braced against the table, eyes a little wild.

Oskar stands as well, making his way around the table to stand tall before Yang, looking down at him for one long unreadable moment before he sinks to one knee, murmuring something that makes Yang freeze.

“What did you just say?” he asks, voice shaking.

“ _Arte et marte_ ,” Oskar repeats and it’s a phrase that Yang hasn’t heard in years, ever since he left everything behind and walked away from his old life. Oskar picks up Yang’s stiff hand and raises it to his lips, placing a kiss against the back of it.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Yang Wenli,” Oskar says. The way he says Yang’s full name is reverent, his blue and gold eyes gleaming as he turns Yang’s wrist enough that he can press his cheek against it.

“Let me introduce myself again,” Oskar says, voice soft but proud. “My name is Oskar von Reuenthal, and I’m the thirteenth captain of the _Rosen Ritter_ regiment, the personal guards to your Excellency, Yang Wenli, the High Mage of Heinessen.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com/) & [twitter](https://twitter.com/rawr_loncat)~
> 
> still on a desperate mission to make reuyang a main ao3 tag XD


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